


Bad Moon Rising

by Tabithian



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 05:48:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>You live by man's rules, you die by them.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Moon Rising

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this when I was sick, sick, sick, so it is all the things I love and none of the plot. Or you know, reasons. *hands*

_You live by man's rules, you die by them._

It's the first and last thing his mother taught him. It's ingrained in him, part of him the way his hair, his skin are. The blood flowing through his veins. 

Gotham's streets, her alleys are rough under his paws. Too much time spent as a human, wearing human trappings. The air is cold, merciless. Gotham's in the heart of winter, when the wolves come out. 

The suit is far behind him a crumpled pile of red and black, unnecessary now. He's got the scent, knows Gotham and her rooftop highways, her dark alley shortcuts. Knows Gotham, and she knows him, cold winds cutting through her streets like a caress, _welcome home_.

His breath is fire in his lungs, legs, body aching - he hasn't pushed himself like this in too long, but there's a reason. 

Always, always a reason.

********

He has to slow down, _cautioncautioncaution_ when he gets close, paws skidding as he takes a corner too fast.

He's stronger now, faster. More dangerous. Lethal. All of his weapons in this form are meant to catch, to break, to kill.

It takes effort not to break the spine of the first goon when he leaps, using the momentum to take the second down. Runs, jumps, teeth closing on the barrel of the rifle aimed at him, a savage twist as he rears up on his hind legs and the goon yells as he rips it free. Pain, fear, both, primal fear of what he is now, nightmare in the shadows.

He tosses the rifle aside, turns and ducks low when a fourth thug opens fire. Jukes to the side, zigzagging and a _leap_ , paws in the center of his target's chest, twisting to the side to land in a low crouch, belly hugging the ground. A quick check to make sure they're all down, blood roaring in his ears, fangs bared.

[Overhead the speakers come to life, a familiar song playing, someone's sick sense of humor making itself known.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5BmEGm-mraE)

He snarls, fury, rage, and _runs_. He knows he's being watched but it doesn't matter now, immaterial. 

They can't take him down like this, rifles and terrified thugs. They can hurt him, make him bleed, but they can't _stop_ him, not until his pack is safe. (Small and broken, splintered, but his. He's fought to keep them. Tooth and nail, fang and claw.)

And then - 

Nothing. 

No scent, just a blank _nothing_.

No, not nothing, a chemical scent. They're being hidden from him, no scent trail to follow, no sign of movement. No noise beyond the pained noises of the men scattered around him like broken toys.

Nothing.

_You live by man's rules, you die by them._

He snorts, growling under his breath as he surveys the room, access points, routes. 

He's not an animal in this form, unthinking, dumb. He's still _Tim_. Robin. Red Robin. More than this, _more_.

He throws his head back and howls, the sound echoing eerily off the walls. Drops his head and runs because he's not an animal like this, unthinking, dumb.

********

A wolf's strength is in its pack, _family_. 

The last cluster of thugs know he's there, filling the air with bullets - the familiar burn and ache of silver - how? - but none of them are killing shots, precision, no. Blindly fired in fear, panic and not enough to bring him down., no.

He makes short work of the guards, their terrified screams filling the air, until he topples the last guard, breathing heavy, head hanging low.

Movement, quiet, soft. His _pack_ , caught - _how?_ \- and held for bait, for him. Why?

He can feel them watching him, feel their eyes on him. When he looks up, it's no surprise to see the way Dick has moved to shield Damian. The way Bruce _stares_ , and growls softly. He limps to the bars of the cells holding them, burn of silver in his shoulder, enough to hurt, not kill. 

Sniffs experimentally. Pulls his head back - some kind of sliver alloy - _how?_. His gaze flickers over his pack - wary, mistrustful, and clamps his jaws around one of the bars. Bites down, ignores the pain, and wrenches, the bar giving under the pressure of his jaws. He spits it out, silver and metal and blood and goes for the next one and the one after that until there's a hole large enough for Damian to use.

He backs away, coughing, spitting, tiny slivers of metal caught in his gums. Lifts his head when Damian edges through the hole he's made, one arm held close to his side, eyes on him. Wary. 

Damian stares at him for a moment, body tense. A soft exhale, eyes narrowing behind his mask. " _Drake_." A choked laugh, dark, bitter. "I knew there was something wrong about you."

Flash of fangs. Nothing is wrong with him. _Nothing._ He is as he was born, flesh and fur and fang folded into a delicate, fragile human body. 

Dick presses up against the bars at that, noise of distress escaping him, but.

"Mindless beast," Damian spits, but when Tim raises his head to look at him, lip curled over sharp fangs, he smells Damian's uncertainty. “ _Foolish_ beast," Damian amends, looking away.

He lets that one pass, anxious to be gone from this place. Whoever did this, took his pack, his family, is long gone. Left their muscle behind for what? Distraction, entertainment? There are no answers to be found here, only hurt. 

"What are you doing?" Damian asks, startled, when Tim comes up alongside him, gently nudging him with his shoulder. "Drake!"

Tim growls gently, taking the edge of Damian's cape in his mouth and tugging. "We cannot - "

They can. Damian can unlock the cells, get Bruce and Dick out and then. 

And then, whatever comes after.


End file.
